A Desire for Death

Copyright © 2013 by Saleem.

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My sincere thanks to Dr. jayalakshmi and Mrs Sujatha Gopal for editing the novel.

—saleem

‘T hoorpu Palem’ in Ongole district of Andhra Pradesh… the time was five in the evening. The school had closed for the day just then. Children were rushing out in a cry of pleasure, outshouting each other. Siddhartha, with a schoolbag hung over his shoulder walking at a slow pace toward the school gate, looked at the students nudging and pushing each other impatiently. It was the same every day. They would be running in ecstatic joy once it was time to go home, like prisoners released from a jail. Even the school principal’s reprimands to maintain discipline would be of no avail. They would form a queue only up to the school gate. Once out of the gate, they became like birds just freed from the captive cages.

Siddhartha had shared his feelings with his grandmother. ‘Children behave like that for different reasons. Those who have little interest in studies or dislike going to school may leap in joy at the end of the day. They perhaps think of it as a good riddance to be let off,’ she had explained.

‘Then why don’t I feel the same way?’ Siddhartha had asked. She had pinched the boy’s cheeks affectionately and said, ‘There you are. You are worth a mountain of gold. You are an endearing child of learning!’

There was a temple dedicated to Lord Rama on the way to home. A flight of pigeons… came flocking… devotees visiting the temple threw millets at them. The birds fed on the grain, cooing in delight. The sight of the birds charmed Siddhartha so much so that, he wanted to see more of them every day.

Siddhartha stood at the spot transfixed, staring at the pigeons pecking at the grain. The graceful movement of their necks fascinated him. Perhaps some children had disturbed the birds with a hush and they took wings into the sky, making the sky appear ashen in a jiffy. They sat on the ramparts of the temple for a while staring eagerly at the grains scattered on the ground below. Slowly, one after another, they scooped down and began pecking at the grain once again.

Having watched the birds peck at the grain a little longer, Siddhartha headed towards home. Clusters of babul trees lined up wildly on either side of the path. Children feared to take this road in the dark. Siddhartha saw something moving under a tree, so he peered closer. It was a black cat. He bent forward to inspect the scene. Lo, there was a pigeon’s wing in its mouth. Later he noticed another cat loitering nearby. The black cat that held in its mouth the wing of the pigeon let go of it and chased the other cat… . The latter held the pigeon’s neck between its jaws. A fierce battle ensued between the two cats for the prize catch.

The commotion had already attracted the attention of the rest of the children. Picking up stones, the boys began pelting at the cats. Soon, the cats fled the scene, leaving the wounded pigeon behind. The children flocked around the wounded pigeon. The poor pigeon was bleeding all over. One of its legs was broken too, and appeared to be half dead with its neck bitten in a deep gash. Its heart was still palpitating.

‘Hey, take a look… how badly it’s bleeding… it’s unlikely to survive. It is bound to die in half an hour’s time or at best in an hour,’ said one of the children.

Siddhartha took the bird in his hands. It appeared to have looked at him pityingly through its half-closed eyes… in endless pain. Siddhartha ran his fingers along its body lovingly. It seemed to be in misery and Siddhartha again felt the bird to have looked at him appealingly… he felt as though he understood the mute language of the bird… asking him to liberate it from its mortal suffering, as it were.

It was then that Siddhartha remembered his grandmother’s words. Every morning and evening, twice a day, as a ritual she prayed before their family deity with great devotion.

Once he had asked her, ‘Nanamma, what do you ask God for, when you worship Him with such devotion?’

She smiled at his words. Her toothy smile appeared beautiful ever since her dentures were fitted.

Smiling softly, she had answered Siddhartha’s question. ‘I ask God to bless my grandson to become a great doctor and treat the kind of diseases elders like me get afflicted with, and earn a good name.’

‘Now tell me Nanamma, for yourself what do you ask!’

‘What would I need from God for myself? I ask Him to bless my son and daughter-in-law.’

‘Not that… what about you… won’t you ask anything for yourself?’

‘I ask Him to grant me a painless death,’ she replied after a pregnant pause.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means death bereft of pain. It’s like painlessly reaching the lap of death while still in sleep… do you know, such fortune is ordained to favor only the virtuous… to die quietly and peacefully without being afflicted with any kind of disease, while being physically still active.’

For thirteen-year old Siddhartha, his grandmother’s words made little sense. Isn’t everyone afraid of death? Doesn’t everyone weep over someone’s death? That means no one likes to die. Then why does grandma wish for death to come to her? Why does she talk about dying peacefully?

‘You should never die Nanamma! Don’t ever say those words. I can’t bear to hear those words. I feel like crying.’

Grandmother drew her agitated teary-eyed grandson close to her warm hug. For him, she was the dearest of all. She always came to his defense whenever his mother scolded him or father tried to punish. Whenever she came to his rescue, even father couldn’t say anything. Only grandmother fought on his behalf to get what he wanted from his father.

‘My dear Siddhartha, no one can escape death. I have spent my life in happiness. Now I have grown old. One day or the other, I’ll have to go to God’s abode. It’s better to die before my near and dear wished I were dead, or I’m laid up in bed with sickness and my people are unable to tender care. The reason why I pray to God everyday is that he should take my life without subjecting me to miseries that lead to a painful

death.’

Breaking away from his thoughts, Siddhartha took another look of the pigeon that seem to be appealing to him to deliver it an easy and speedy death. From its half-opened eyes, it seemed to be praying, ‘won’t you release me from my suffering and this physical pain?’

The children who gathered around Siddhartha waited eagerly to see what he intended to do with the pigeon. Like the Siddhartha of earlier times who saved a swan’s life plucking out an arrow from its body, will he save the life of the wounded pigeon… will he take it to a Vet… else, will he take it home to give care… or abandon it to its fate uncaring?

Siddhartha lifted the pigeon by its legs with his right hand. As one of the bird’s legs was broken, he could not get a firm hold of it. Moving towards a nearby boulder, he dashed its head against the stone. The bird died that very instant.

Those around him let out a shocked cry ‘ah!’ . . . some looked at Siddhartha in awe… some in sorrow… some others in disbelief. The girls among them could not bear the sight of that ghastly action. They fled.

As for Siddhartha, he jerked up his head proudly as though he performed a great deed and threw a casual glance at others before heading for home.

He wished to share that incident with his mother; however, he feared that she would scold him. After dinner, he snuggled up to his grandmother and settled by her side.

‘Nanamma . . . do you know what happened today while I was returning from school?’

‘How do I know unless you tell me? Do I have any divine vision?’ she smiled as she asked the question.

She was all ears through his narration of the incident.

‘Nanamma . . . did I commit any mistake in killing the pigeon… have I committed any sin… will God punish me?’ Siddhartha asked towards the end with a pale expression.

No answer came from grandmother immediately. She pondered over the matter awhile to know if there was anything unnatural about her grandson’s action.

‘Why did you get the idea that you should kill the bird dashing its head against the rock?’ she queried.

‘It was heartbreaking to see the bird wriggle in pain, Nanamma. I was moved to tears, moreover, the bird was about to die. Did it have to go through that terrible pain until then? Did you not say that it would be better for one to have an instant easy death, instead of a painful and miserable one? I felt immense pity for the poor bird. I put down the poor bird to help ease its pain.’

‘Okay! You wanted to kill the bird. You thought you should liberate it from its mortal pain. Then your action of dashing the pigeon against the boulder could have appeared cruel to those around.’

‘No, Nanamma! Initially, I wanted to strangle the bird… well, the cat had already bitten into its neck, and what if it had to throb on with pain? I found that to be the best possible way to kill without causing much struggle and pain. Tell me, have I done anything wrong?’

After a long pause, grandmother affectionately touched Siddhartha’s cheeks. ‘No. You did the right thing. You possess a heart filled with ardour and kindness, but people may not look at the situation the way you have. I know you very well… my grandson has a very sensitive heart.’

That night Siddhartha slept well. He even dreamt of the dead pigeon thanking him.

Next day on reaching the school, the principal sent for Siddhartha. A ninth standard student by then had promptly taken the matter to his notice.

‘Is it true you did a mighty good thing, on your way home last evening?’ Siddhartha observed the principal’s eyes turn red with anger.

He could not get the expression ‘mighty good’, so asked, ‘what have I done, sir?’

‘Rascal, are you asking me what you did? Do you think I will let you off if you act innocent? Haven’t I heard of how you had killed a pigeon dashing its head against a boulder?’

‘Sir, its neck was bitten into by a cat. It had also lost a wing. One of its legs was broken. I could not bear to see its pain hence I killed it,’ Siddhartha confessed.

‘Scoundrel, did the bird tell you of its pain? If you can display such monstrous and violent nature at this tender age, you may even grow up to commit murders as an adult. You will become a ruffian or a rowdy. Well, tomorrow bring your father along! I will have to talk to him!’

‘Sir… I was moved by the pitiable state the pigeon was in. It was bleeding all over. With a broken neck, it was suffering immensely. I could not see it suffer in pain. I eased its pain so that it may die in peace. It had to die a painful death a little later anyway. The bird too must have desired a speedy death. I only helped it fulfill its last wish.’

‘Shut up, you idiot! You are trying merely to justify your actions. It is as though the bird had a mind of its own, and you executed its wish… do you take yourself to be next to God or what!’

Siddhartha said in defense, ‘the bird cannot voice its desire, sir!’

‘You can speak since you have a voice, so you are now trying to justify your savage act. Over that, you are trying to convince me it was not a mistake at all on your part… that itself is a bigger mistake… . I wouldn’t be going through this trauma had you confessed to your mistake saying, ‘what I did was a mistake and I’ll not do it again!’

Siddhartha had not even finished his sentence, ‘sir, I did nothing wrong,’ he was struck hard on the cheek. The principal was further infuriated, ‘I’ve to suggest your father to have you examined by a doctor to see if are sick in mind. It’s going to be dangerous if it gets worse.’

Tears turned in Siddhartha’s eyes, besides he was angry with the principal… ‘why should he face punishment without having committed anything wrong… who is the principal to punish him… what authority did he have to punish him?’

When Siddhartha’s father came to know of the issue the next day, he caned him severely to punish him. He did not even pay any heed to the pleas of the grandmother.

Siddhartha’s father worried no end about his son’s future as he shared with his wife his worst fears, ‘what would become of this fellow when he gets older and knifes somebody for the stated reason that he killed only to free that someone from physical pain?’

*     *     *

P rasad was wearing his school uniform. ‘Come on my son, make it fast… your school bus will be here any time!’ His mother prodded him waiting with his tie ready in hand.

‘It’s over, Mummy. Now hand me my tie. Where are my shoes? Have you polished them? They have to shine, or else I’ll be made to stand in a corner during the school assembly, and over that made to pay a fine,’ saying so, he wore his tie and put on his socks. Finding his shoes already done, he nodded his head in approval even as he was putting them on and slung his schoolbag over his shoulder. ‘Bye Mummy!’ He took one long step and was out soon running towards the spot where the school bus picked him up daily.

‘If you run like that, the dal in your lunch box would spill! Wasting time and waiting until the last minute… and thereafter running at such great speed! Oh, what a boy… failing to explain to him really kills me!’ He could hardly wait to hear his mother out to the end.

Five to six children of Harvard School were already at the bus stop, waiting for the bus. Prasad’s spirits brightened as soon as he saw Ramya, his classmate, who was among them. After greeting her ‘Hi!’ he quipped, ‘Are you done with your homework? As it is, our Mathematics teacher is quick-tempered. He beats black and blue until the cane in hand breaks.’

‘Oh, Yes! I am done with homework yesterday itself. Besides the teachers don’t beat girls,’ she said batting her eyelids at him.

He had heard his mother mention many a time to his father, ‘That girl’s eyes… have you observed, how beautiful they are… eyelids like bee wings… don’t they remind you of Savitri, the yesteryear actress?’

Ramya and Prasad studying in eighth standard were immediate neighbours. Ramya’s father worked as a lecturer at Nizam College. Prasad’s father was an officer with Canara Bank while his mother worked as a clerk in the same bank.

‘Your father helps you with all subjects. He should be helping you with your homework too. No wonder you stand first in the class. My father is not so good at Mathematics. He only did his B.Com.’

‘No. You are all assuming that my dad teaches everything. I’d rather study all subjects by myself. See, I did the homework too by myself. My dad didn’t help with it… true!’ she replied rolling her eyes.

Finally, the bus showed up… the children formed a queue to board the bus as per their Principal’s instruction. Ramya stood behind Prasad… two other boys were behind her.

Those in front of Prasad boarded the bus first. When Prasad’s turn came, he was about to place his right foot on the footboard when he found he could not move his leg. For a moment, he could not understand what was happening to him. He gathered all his strength and tried to move it again. ‘No use. What is this? Why is my leg not in my control? It is as though it were dead . . . fell to ruin . . . . Are my legs like those of the cursed hero in that folklore movie on TV turning to stone?’

‘Move fast!’ Ramya’s impatient voice came from behind.

Now Prasad lifted his left leg. To his great relief he could. He thought to himself… ‘Oh, boy . . . how afraid I was a moment ago!’ He put his left leg on the footboard and lifted his right leg after that. Once inside, he could run as fast as Ravi who was rushing towards the first available seat. About to grab the seat in just another leap, Prasad fell down with a thud. Every student in the bus fell silent, but soon they all burst out laughing.

Shame, anger, pride and sorrow… a myriad of emotions overtook Prasad at once. He grabbed Ravi’s shirt collar who took his seat by then. ‘Why did you thrust your leg forward as to trip me up? I’ll report this matter to our Principal,’ he quipped in anger.

Ravi looked at him surprised. ‘How could I knock you over, when you were way ahead of me? You ran and I after you. That was all. I had no idea how you fell down,’ Ravi replied who was in the tenth standard.

Ravi did not get angry with Prasad despite the latter grabbing his shirt collar. He bore only sympathy for him for getting hurt in the melee.

‘No. You must have tripped me up on purpose. Mind you, in the past did I ever fall when we scrambled for seats?’ Prasad asked with pride mixed in anger.

‘I swear on my mother. I was not the cause for your fall. You fell all by yourself,’ Ravi tried to pacify him.

‘Why should I fall? Am I crazy to fall for no reason?’

‘Perhaps.’

At that, everyone fell to laughing yet again.

‘Wait! I’ll settle a score with you later, but not now."

Prasad forgot all of it the moment their bus entered the school campus.

The next day was Sunday.

Prasad in fact loved riding bikes. His passion for bicycle-ride deepened when his neighbor, Ramya, bought one for herself.

Prasad had approached his father who was reading a newspaper.

‘Won’t you buy me a bicycle, Daddy?’ Prasad pleaded.

‘Bicycle? Why do you need one?’ Prasad’s father frowned.

‘You know Daddy, most of my friends come to school on bicycles… I too will go to school on a bicycle… that way I will be sparing some expense for you on transport.’

‘Son, don’t try to outwit me! Never mind about that expenditure! You’ll go to the school by bus itself.’

‘What do you lose if you buy me a bicycle?’ Prasad’s voice turned teary already.

‘Yes, a lot. Firstly, you will hurt yourself falling from the bicycle, and every day, we have to wait eagerly for your safe return. For us, the bus is more convenient. It arrives at our doorstep, and brings you back safe and secure."

‘Even girls come to school on bicycles, Daddy! Ramya’s father too bought her one. Haven’t you seen her practicing every evening?’

‘Why should I concern myself with others’ matters… I’ll not buy you a bicycle. I cannot bear to see you hurt yourself!’

‘Daddy, it’s common to get hurt while learning to cycle. You had told me that you fell off the bicycle three or four times when you were young, didn’t you? Tatagaru bought you a bicycle all the same.’

‘Hey… don’t you try your crooked logic on me! My father had six children. I was the fourth one. But you are my only child,’ Prasad’s father protested.

His mother too joined her husband, ‘besides you’re our long awaited offspring. You were born after eight years of our marriage. No temple or shrine went unvisited and no god spared without saying a prayer, all for the sake of having a son. If anything untoward happens to you, neither your father nor I can endure.’

Prasad knew that it was easier to convince his mother than his father. That day he took care not to press further.

Next day he returned from school as usual at four-thirty in the evening. Two hours later, his mother returned from the bank. Father was to return home anyhow after eight.

Mother got down to her work in the kitchen.

‘Mummy! Shall I help you in cutting the vegetables?’ saying, he entered the kitchen.

‘No, my son! The cut vegetables are ready in the fridge,’ his mother said fondly looking at her son.

‘Any other help, Mummy?’ Prasad asked, his eyes expectantly shining.

‘Yes… studying well secure good marks and become a District Collector… I can’t ask for more.’

‘Mummy… for your sake I shall become a Collector. Sure, Mummy! With my salary I will buy you a car… a Scorpio… in that you can commute to your bank in style.’

‘Hey, wouldn’t I be retiring by then!’ Saroja said looking at her son proudly.

‘So what? Then you can as well take a ride to Necklace Road in the evenings for an outing,’ he added.

After a brief while, he ventured, ‘Mummy… I have a small request. Will you please grant it?’

‘Oh, didn’t I know it coming! My darling son is about to make a wish. Well, tell me what your request is.’

‘Please recommend to Daddy to buy me a bicycle.’

‘Didn’t we tell yesterday that there was no question of buying you a bicycle? You can’t balance while riding.’

‘I’ll balance it well, Mummy. I rode Ravi’s bike two or three times… Ravi, who lives down the lane a couple of houses away.’

Prasad’s mother looked at her son in wonder. ‘You rascal… didn’t you fall from that bicycle? How could you learn cycling without falling off? Did you hide your bruises after a fall?’

‘No, Mummy… Ravi held the bicycle for me while riding. Besides, I pedaled it slowly. My legs could easily reach the ground.’

‘Even so, there’s no bike for you. You’ve to go to school only by bus.’

Prasad lowered his head and remained silent. He expected his mother would think he was sulking when he sat that way.

As hoped, his mother came to him and